


Choices

by justalittlegreen



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Angst, Everyone is miserable, M/M, Multi, So much angst, but this is 1956, emotional masochism, not in any verse I've ever written before, painful conversations, polyamory would solve a lot of problems, postcanon, they're all just human, this was a smut prompt and instead you get angst, trying their best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23387026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justalittlegreen/pseuds/justalittlegreen
Relationships: B. J. Hunnicutt/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, B. J. Hunnicutt/Peg Hunnicutt
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	Choices

"Be sure to call me," Peggy had said into his neck as he held on, not wanting to say goodbye. Not wanting to admit what leaving meant. Not sure he was ready to walk through whatever door had divided the man he was in Korea and the man he'd tried to come home to be. 

"You sure?" he'd asked. 

"Mhmm." 

"But what if - " he hadn't known how to finish the question.

"BJ," she'd said firmly, pulling away far enough to look him in the eye. "My husband went to Korea a happy man. I miss him. And if this - " her voice cracked slightly, hitched on the corner of a sob. There had been so much crying in recent days. " - if this is what brings him back to me, then I can survive it."

With that in his pocket, he'd boarded the plane. The flight seemed to pass in minutes, or days. The stretch between Peggy's arms and Hawkeye's spanned an entire world.

When he landed, when he saw Hawkeye waiting at the gate, grayer, but better fed than he'd ever been in Korea, time made sense again.

After that initial handshake-turned-hug in the airport, they walked close, BJ's suitcase between them, chatting about the weather, and BJ's flight. It was three hours' drive from Boston to Crabapple Cove, so BJ was surprised when Hawkeye pulled over after less than an hour, outside a motel on their two-lane highway. 

"Figured we'd stay here for the night," he said quietly, his voice more tense and uneasy than it had been since BJ landed. "It's a long drive back. I told my father I'd want to give you a night in the big city first."

BJ didn't have words. He looked straight ahead, at the motel door, thinking about how they'd have dreamed about this in Korea - the quiet, the anonymity, the large-enough bed, the private bathroom. He thought about coming in to shave, the bathroom filled with steam and the sound of Hawkeye singing. He closed his eyes and exhaled. Would he really come all this way and chicken out now?

Hawkeye turned the car back on. "Beej," he said, "I'm sorry. We can keep - we can do - we don't have to -" He put his hand on the stick shift and moved to put the car in gear.

BJ clapped a hand over his and forced him to keep it in park.

"Beej?"

"Just give me a minute," BJ said. The words blew through his lips in something between a whisper and a plea. A soft wind. He should have explained.

"Okay," Hawkeye said. "Take as long as you need." He settled back into his seat, propping an elbow up on his open window and looking away from BJ at the parking lot. BJ removed his hand from Hawkeye's and did the same thing. 

"Where does Peggy think you are?" 

Hawkeye's voice was low, hurt. This hadn't been part of the deal. They weren't supposed to be talking about it, naming it, inviting the possibilities of betrayal. He dared a glance at BJ. His face was buried in his open hand, twisted into a grimace.

"She knows."

Hawkeye stopped breathing.

"She what?"

BJ responded by getting out of the car and pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket that Hawkeye hadn't seen. "Hey!" Hawkeye called through the open window. "Since when are you a smoker?"

BJ turned around and looked at him, dead-eyed. "Since Peggy hates it and demands that I do it only in the garage." 

Hawkeye felt the realization sink in his gut. He'd teased BJ to death for having a phone extension put in the garage two years ago.

BJ walked to the edge of the parking lot and lit his cigarette. Much as he hated to admit it, the habit was helpful for more than just giving him cover to call Hawkeye. He'd gone from one or two a month to three a week, sometimes more. 

He heard the car door slam, then the trunk. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hawkeye with a suitcase in his hand - not his - walking toward the end of the row of rooms. BJ looked back out toward the highway. He could see a sign for a gas station in the distance. He felt for his wallet, still in his other pocket, dropped the cigarette, and crushed it with the toe of his good dress shoe before heading down the road.

When he returned with a distinctively-shaped paper bag tucked into one arm, he found Hawkeye sitting on a bench next to the motel pay phone, reading the newspaper. BJ walked over and unwrapped the bottle of gin and held it out to him. Hawk looked up. 

"You think I didn't come prepared?" he finally said, grinning.

"I figure this will taste more familiar," BJ explained. "The guy assured me it works as lighter fluid."

Hawkeye chuckled, a real laugh. "Okay," he said, folding the paper and standing up. "But no more cigarettes. I hate the smell. Always have."

"Me, too," BJ admitted. 

Hawkeye nodded. "Are you sure about this?" he asked. 

"No," BJ said. "But Hawk?"

"Yeah?"

"Peggy is."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means...she knows where I am."

"How much does she know?"

"Enough."

"And she's sure?"

BJ scrubbed at his eyes with the heel of one hand. "She - she wants me to come home happy," he said.

Hawkeye let that sink in, feeling an itch in his hands, desperate to put a hand on BJ's shoulder, or smooth his brow, run his fingers through his hair. 

"And if you do?" he asked. "If you go home happy, then what?"

BJ at least had the decency to blush. "I don't know," he said quietly.

"You might have to take that phone extension out of the garage. Quit smoking." 

BJ let out a sigh through his teeth. "I never wanted it to be a choice," he said desperately.

"It was always a choice," Hawkeye answered. "One I tried my best to help you make - despite myself. Or weren't you listening when I made you swear that oath after Carrie Donovan?"

BJ crossed his arms, still clutching the bottle of gin. "I thought I was clear about this - " he gestured between them, "not being anything like that."

"Oh, I remember," Hawkeye said. "But when a person shouts from a motorcycle that he promises to visit you and then the most you get are some - some - depressed transcontinental phone calls and one VERY sloppily written - "

"I _tried,_ okay?" BJ hissed. "Okay? You're right. I admit it. I tried not to choose, and I couldn't."

Hawkeye stared at him. "It took you that long to figure that out?"

"Look," BJ began. "Why did you come? Why did you - " he gestured toward the motel. "Why any of it?"

"Because you called," Hawkeye said simply. "Beej, I knew that I wasn't it for you, but you were it for me. And I knew there was a good chance I'd come out of this week mortally wounded in some invisible way, and I still decided it was worth it to see you." His voice dropped to a soft, urgent murmur. "I know you're going back to her. Hell, part me wants you to go back to her, and to be happy. Honestly. But I don't think you can until you admit it to yourself."

"Admit what?"

"That it's a choice and you have to make it. Nobody can do it for you. Peg can't guilt you into it. I certainly can't woo you into it. This is on you, Beej. And the rest of us who love you will deal with the fallout."

BJ took a step backwards and considered the bottle in his hands.

"Hawk?" he asked, not looking up.

"Beej?" Hawkeye replied in the same cadence.

"Would you like to get blind drunk with me?"

"More than anything," Hawkeye said. BJ smiled and turned toward the motel. "But - " Hawkeye started as soon as his back was turned. BJ froze. " - I am not going to."

BJ spun around, feeling like he'd been slapped. Hawkeye caught the look on his face and put his hands up in defense. 

"Just - come with me, okay?" He strode across the parking lot ahead of BJ, headed for room 6. BJ followed at a three-pace distance, slowing his stride to match Hawkeye's.

They both looked both ways before they entered the room. Hawkeye drew the curtains as BJ locked the door. Hawkeye had brought his suitcase in, too, and placed at the foot of one of the two twin beds. Hawkeye followed his gaze and shrugged, turning on the bedside lamp. 

"At least they're wider than army cots," he said. "Have a seat, Beej."

BJ sat down and untied his shoes, wiggling his toes with a sigh. Hawkeye sat on the other bed, their knees nearly touching in the space between them.

"Beej," Hawkeye said, his voice tender and warm. "Believe me, I know how hard this is for you."

"Do you, Hawkeye?"

"Of course I do," Hawkeye said, in that same calm, reassuring voice. "You wouldn't be you if it were easy. Your sense of loyalty. Your infinite capacity for conundrum."

BJ snickered at that. "I'm sorry. I really am. You wouldn't be you without...emotional masochism. And I know this hurts."

Hawkeye gave a dark chuckle. "Yeah. Yeah, it does. And what's more, I'm shocked she let you come at all."

"Me, too." BJ leaned down and kicked his feet up onto the bed. "I'm so tired, Hawk."

Hawkeye lay down, his body mirroring BJ's. "I know. But before you pass out, I need to know."

"What do you need to know?"

"What are you doing here, Beej?"

The answer floated up before BJ had time to think or stop it. 

"I came to see if I could go back."

Hawkeye nodded. "There you go."

"What?"

"That's the beginning of the truth I was looking for. What else?"

BJ took a deep breath. "I was hoping - Gd, Hawk, it's awful. I'm ashamed to say it." 

"I'm not going to judge you."

"But I don't want to hurt you."

"Hey. Emotional masochist, remember? It'll be a treat. Go on."

BJ turned his face into the pillow and spoke into the sheets. "I came hoping I was over you. That I'd get off the plane and we'd be...just old war buddies. And then I'd go home, really go home this time."

He heard Hawkeye rustling the sheets. When he dared peek, Hawk was lying on his back, hands folded behind his head. BJ saw him brush an eye with his knuckle, but who knew if it was really a tear or not?

"Didn't you ever hope for that?" he asked. "Didn't you ever just want it to be simple?"

Hawkeye covered his face with one hand, but couldn't hide the way he was struggling to hold back tears.

BJ waited until Hawkeye removed his hand from his face before he spoke. "Can we have that drink now?" he asked his pillow.

"Yeah," Hawkeye sighed. He unbuckled his suitcase and produced two martini glasses, a bottle of better-than-average gin, a bottle of vermouth, and a jar of olives. Without fanfare, he put the drinks together and held one out to BJ. 

BJ sat up and took it, tapping Hawkeye's glass with his own. Neither offered a toast. BJ downed his drink with a few swallows. Hawkeye put his down half-full.

"While we're being honest," BJ said, as though nothing had interrupted the conversation, but Hawkeye interrupted him.

"I'm sorry - I don't think I really want to know this, but I have to ask."

"What is it?"

"Did you get what you were hoping for?"

"Which part?"

"The being over me part."

BJ's jaw dropped. "You really have to ask that?"

Hawkeye shrugged. 

"Are you serious, Hawkeye?" BJ started to laugh. "Look - look at me! I'm a mess! I'm an absolute wreck. NO. I am most certainly NOT over you, NO, it is NOT simple, and NO, I have no idea how the hell I'm going home because I got off that plane and wished I'd spent the last four years with you!"

He didn't remember getting to his feet, but before he could draw a breath after his last sentence, Hawkeye jumped up and kissed him.

Kissing Hawkeye was supposed to feel like coming home, like comfort and anticipation and needs fulfilled. He'd been imagining it for years. What he found instead was lightning - dazzling, electrifying. Shocking. BJ pulled away, feeling both burned and more alive than he'd felt in years.

Judging by the look on Hawkeye's face, the feeling might've been mutual. Hawkeye's eyes were dark, the pain evident on his face. He shut his eyes and ducked his head, his hands resting on BJ's shoulders. 

"No," Hawkeye muttered. "I can't. Not unless -"

BJ sat down slowly, put his hands over Hawkeye's and brought them gently down, until they were holding hands over their knees. "Hawk," he said, nearly choking on his name. "I can't make any decisions, or any promises. You deserve better than that. You do, and I have no right to ask you what I'm about to."

Hawkeye sighed. "Yeah?"

BJ chose his next words carefully. "I don't know how to go home, or how to stay here. I don't know what will happen if we - " he gestured to the bed and the walls around them. "But I do know this: pretending anything is simple won't work."

"Damn right it won't," Hawkeye muttered. 

"Right," BJ said. "So, unfair as this is - and complicated as this is - will you - will you just - "

"Be complicated with you?" Hawkeye finished with a vague suggestion of a leer.

"That's the best I can do," BJ said. "The best I can do is be here while I'm here. And...if I know you - if I know us - then something like happiness is bound to emerge. Even for just a moment. And even if that's all it is, then it's worth it to me."

He picked up Hawkeye's hand and, looking directly into Hawkeye's eyes, brought his palm to his lips and kissed it. Hawkeye squeezed his eyes closed and nodded.

"Yeah," he breathed. "Okay."


End file.
